The Demon Games
by Jihyunnie
Summary: The world is unfair. Maka knows this best, especially when she's chosen to compete in the Demon Games, a fight to the death with 24 other competitors. How will she survive? Simple. "Either you kill, or be killed, kid. That's how the games work."


_Disclamer: Soul Eater does not belong to me. If it did, the anime would have a season 2._

_Also, The Hunger Games does not belong to me, either. It belongs to Suzanne Collins.  
_

_**THE DEMON GAMES**__  
__PART 1: THE TRIBUTES  
_

Chapter 1:Beginning

_maka: the drawing_

When I open my eyes, everything will be over, I tell myself. Everything will disappear like a dream, and I'll wake up, forgetting that the Drawing ever existed. Or better yet, that the Demon Games ever existed.

Of course, everyone gathered in the Town Square and I know that this childish thought was a load of bull. In reality, when I open my eyes, I see hordes of people and families, and mothers guarding their children protectively, their arms hovering around them and their eyes glancing uneasily at the several cameras surrounding the Town Square. When I see these families, these mothers with such an air of protectiveness, I can't help but to feel jealous. A sharp pain in my chest reminds me that I have no family to protect me. To tell me that everything's going to be okay, even though it's not.

I did, however, once have a family. A loving mother and father. But over the past years, I've learned that nothing, or no one, lasts forever. They always end up leaving you.

"Ahem." My attention is turned to the stage, which is old and in need of serious repair. The mayor is standing on the stage, trying to get the microphone to work. He tries tapping it, but it replies with a loud screech that all of District 9 can hear. People around me instinctively bring their hands to their ears to block out the horrible sound. I don't even flinch. Nervously, the mayor coughs once more before speaking into the microphone once again.

"Attention, citizens of District 9." the mayor clears his throat once more before continuing,"You are all gathered here today because of a very exciting event." The crowd roars in disapproval at the mayor's last words. Some laugh. Yes, like sending your kids right into death is exciting. Obviously uncomfortable and embarrassed, the mayor glances at the many cameras scattered around District 9. They stare mercilessly back at him, recording his every move, his every word, his every mistake.

The mayor goes on to talk about how the Demon Games were made. He drones on monotonously about the history of our so-called President, just like he does every year. Honestly, I couldn't care less about the President. I hate him. In fact, I'm sure that deep down, every single person gathered in the Town Square hated his guts; hated the Demon Games.

But we have no choice.

We are forced to do this.

Long ago, our country of Shibusen was peaceful. Beautiful, even. It was nothing like it was now. Children would dance in the meadows without a care, smiling and laughing with their friends, not knowing that in thirty years, they would be standing on a graveyard. Parents would go about their days, not once having to worry about the Drawing, and no child would ever, ever wake up screaming from nightmares of the Demon Games. During this time, our current president was Shinigami-sama. He was a comical, silly, and caring man that did the best for his country. He always put us, the citizens of Shibusen, first.

But when we needed him the most, he vanished.

Then, from that point on, everything became chaotic. Without Shinigami to tell us what to do and what was right, things began to shift. Collapse. Fall apart.

And then that _thing _came along.

He said that he would help us; that he would pull our nation back together. And we believed him. Scared and naive, we followed him, listening to his every word, his every command. Oh, how stupid we we're. He declared himself president, and we thought he was a hero. Our savior. The light in the darkness. But in reality, it was the exact opposite.

He split Shibusen into two categories: the rich and the poor. Then, the bastard took his little rich minions with him to an extravagant part of Shibusen's land and called it the Capital. Next, he divides the poor into twelve smaller districts and scatters them around the Capital.

A year after, the Demon Games we're born.

Let me explain; to put it simply, the Demon Games are a fight-to-the-death with 24 competitors in an arena that the Gamemakers make. Whether it be a frozen iceland, a dry, scorching desert, or a poisonous swamp, the winners of the Drawing compete in that arena.

Every year, we hold the Demon Games, and right before, they hold the Drawing. Two tributes, one boy and one girl, are chosen from each District. On the day of the Drawing, cameramen and spokespeople travel through every District to record every winner's Drawing. How the Drawing works is this: Every child between the ages of twelve and eighteen's names are written on little glowing orbs and entered into two giant bowls. One bowl for the girls, and one for the boys. The orbs that our names are written on are very peculiar. They are all a different color, and they all glow softly. To me, they look like souls, waiting to be picked out and thrown into battle.

But here's the catch. The number of times your name is entered depends on your age. When you turn twelve, you are eligible for the Drawing, and your name is entered once. When you're thirteen, twice, and so on. At the age of eighteen, my name will be entered seven times. Right now, I'm fifteen, so that makes four.

Then, someone from the Capital comes and draws one name from each bowl. Those two tributes then go on to the Demon Games. Simple, yet so twisted.

The mayor's voice snaps me back into reality. While I was daydreaming, the mayor had already finished his little Shibusen history lesson, and everyone now turns to face the flag that stands proudly on the corner of the stage. The Anthem of Shibusen blares from the large speakers on both sides of the stage, and we all stare coldly at the flag. It has a very simple design, but it means so much more to us. A red blood colored star is printed in the middle of the flag, with twelve smaller black stars surrounding it in a circle formation. To the Capital, all it is is a pretty design describing our country. To us, it shows how much control the Capital has over the twelve Districts. How they are the center of everything. How trapped we are.

The Anthem ends, and we all turn our gazes towards a tall, lusciously blonde woman making her way towards the stage. Her skin is unnaturally white, and her body is covered in some sort of glitter. Artificial blue eyes blink at us, and I begin to wonder if she's really a human. She looks exactly like a doll. She walks haughtily onstage, her ridiculously high heels sparkling unnecessarily with every step. Just one look at her automatically tell me she's from the Capital.

Every person gathered in the Town Square's eyes are glued to her. Except mine. I can't stand looking at her. It's disgusting.

Finally she makes it to the microphone. "Hello, District 9!" she says, and I jump a little. I didn't expect her voice to be so loud. Even without the microphone, I could probably hear her annoying voice loud and clear. "I am Lucy Fairhart, and I'll be your announcer today!" Her huge eyes scan the crowd, and her face breaks out into a nasty grin. "I see lots of young girls and boys today! Are you all excited for the Demon Games?"

No one speaks. Complete silence is her reply. Talk about embarrassing. She's probably the laughingstock of the Capital right now, but her smile only falters a little. Lucy continues talking as if we replied to her.

"Okay then, why don't we introduce your mentors for this year's Demon Games? Would District 9's Victors stand from their seats?"

My head swivels around to the back, where two men sit. One man stands up carefully, while the other one still slouches in his chair, not getting up.

"Excuse me, would _both _Victors please stand up?" Lucy repeats, obviously a bit annoyed.

The other Victor still sits in his chair with his head hanging down, as if he were... sleeping.

Then it hits me. That man; I know him. Far too well, actually. I'm about to yell when I remember the cameras. Annoyed, I shut my mouth to keep from embarrassing myself.

The Victor that's standing kicks him. Hard, too. I could hear the thunk and the cry of surprise from where I was standing twenty feet away. I couldn't help it. I let out a little laugh. Alert, the other Victor shoots up from his seat, looking around frantically. When he realizes what's going on, he grins sheepishly at the cameras and shrugs like it's no big deal. People laugh. I roll my eyes.

"Our first Victor is Franken Stein," Lucy explains. Stein. He won the Games more than fifteen years ago. I wonder how it feels, mentoring tribute after tribute only to watch them die in the end.

"And our second Victor says he will not mentor this year. Instead, this year he's our head Gamemaker. Give it up for Spirit Albarn!" People clap. I stare at him in shock and disgust, but mostly disgust. How? How could by own father be the head of creating the arena? How could he live, knowing that he's going to create the arena that I might possibly die in? I glare at him. He somehow find me in the crowd and actually _winks at me._ Seething, I flip him the bird and turn to look at Lucy angrily. He disgusts me in every way possible. If my name is drawn, the first thing I will do is kill him.

The Drawings have started. Lucy decides to start with the boys this year. She sticks her hand into the giant glass bowl, loving the fact that all eyes are on her. The Town Square is dead silent as we wait.

"Soul Eater Evans."

Where had I heard that name?

Then I see a white blob moving through the crowds. Squinting to get a better view, I then realize that the 'white blob' was actually a boy.

I watch him carefully, searching for signs of nervousness as he makes his way towards the stage, and find none. The boy has completely wiped his face of emotion.

He jumps coolly onstage with a nonchalant attitude, and I'm completely blown away. Lucy congratulates him, but he just stuffs his hands into his pockets and glances at her with an uninterested look.

I don't get it. How? How could this boy possibly not look nervous at all? How can he stand being onstage, with dozens of camera's in his face, and not show even a trifle of emotion? How could he look so uninterested, knowing that this could change the rest of his life?

I stand dumbfounded, pondering over his actions when I realize that he has already walked off the stage and into the Justice Building, the largest building in District 9. While I was dazing off, Lucy has already began to pick the girls. Her snow-white hand digs deep into the glass bowl, and I stand there with my eyes shut, hoping it's not me.

It won't be me.

It won't be me.

And guess what?

It's me.

* * *

_maka: goodbye, hello_

The moment my name is called, I freeze. My blood turns cold, and my heart beats so fast I'm afraid it's going to bounce right out of my chest.

I don't understand. How? There were thousands of other names, why mine?

I can't move, I can't think, I can't breathe. My eyes dart around in terror, and I see people staring at me in sympathy. _This is a dream. It's not real_, I tell myself.

Someone nudges me forward, and I look around, dazed. I see myself projected on the wide screen TV on the stage, looking weak and frail, and that's what wakes up from my trance. _Pull yourself together_, I tell myself. This is going to be televised later on tonight for all of Shibusen to see. I can't let my fear show.

I take a deep breath, put a determined look on my face, and make my way towards the stage. Unfortunately, I'm not as good as the boy tribute from before, and I can't hide my emotions as well as he can. I don't even have to shove my way to the stage; the crowd parts automatically for me, watching me. Analyzing me. Right now, they are thinking of whether or not I'll win. They are all wondering how long I will last.

Finally, after what seems like eternity, I climb up the steps and stand firmly on the stage. It's then that I notice a pair of crimson eyes staring at me. I can't help but glancing back. Those eyes.. there's something about them that I can't help noticing. They're beautiful and mesmerizing, but I can see pain and sadness behind them.

And then I realize who the eyes belong to. Soul Eater Evans.

Shocked, I jump a little, hopefully not too noticeably. I realize that Lucy has been giving directions for the past two minutes.

"Well folks, I've got a feeling this year's game is going to be interesting, don't you think so?" Once again, no one speaks. I laugh a little. Lucy Fairhart is officially the laughingstock of the Capital. "Well then, let's give a big round of applause to District 9's tributes of the thirty-first Demon Games!"

To my dismay, a few people clap. It would have been funny if nobody had clapped.

The clapping dies down quickly, and Lucy motions for us to shake hands. Soul's hands are larger than I expected, and warmer too. At once I can feel the scars and cuts from hard days of working in the fields, cutting and harvesting plants. My eyes instinctively glance up to look at his face. Big mistake. Once again, I'm mesmerized by his eyes, and I realize that it will be hard for me to kill him. Maybe even impossible.

I hope someone else kills him before I have to.

The Anthem plays once more, and Soul and I turn to face the crowd. Not much happens in those few seconds. When the Anthem ends, we are immediately taken away by Peacekeepers, who exist only to punish rule breakers and keep the law in order. They nudge us off the stage and lead us towards the Justice Building, the highest, largest, and fanciest building in all of District 9.

They lead us through the glass doors, and we find ourselves in the Lobby. It's probably the nicest room I have ever seen in my entire life. The floors are covered in shiny black and red tiles, recently polished. There are tons of leather couches scattered in various places all around, and a small black counter is located in the middle of the room right where we walked in. I wander off towards the couches, stroking the leather. It's the finest leather I have ever touched. Not even my comfy hunting jacket could match up to it. Continuously, I run my fingers over the couch, and I probably look like a complete weirdo, but I can't help it. Sixteen years of not knowing what luxury feels like tends to do that to you.

Eventually, someone grabs my and puts me in a different room, and I'm left alone. Once again, I'm left in another very rich room. Looking down, I find a carpet floor, and I can't help myself. I immediately crouch down to feel it. It's soft, kind of squishy, and a shade of red that looks like wine. This is the first time I've ever felt carpet, because no one in District 9 can really afford it except for Victors and Peacekeepers. Maybe the mayor, too.

Anyways, this is supposed to be a time for your loved ones to say goodbye before you go off to fight to death in the Demon Games. If anyone visits me, I must make sure that I don't cry, because there's bound to be an abundant amount of cameras in my face when I'm transported to the train.

My first visitors are a bit shocking. Kim Diehl and Jacqueline O'Lantern Dupre from my science class at school. All three of us were lab partners, but it was really only those two who did all the talking. We really weren't that close, but I guess they really were my friends after all.

They walk straight up to me and grab my hands, surrounding me and talking to me like they usually do. Kim talks about how hard the test yesterday was, and they both fill me in on who's dating who at school. Honestly, I don't really care for any of the latest gossip, but I think they're trying to get my mind off the Games, and I'm thankful for that.

Time flies by, and before I know it, the Peacekeeper is coming back in to take Kim and Jacqueline away. The two girls give me a long look, and they urgently press something to my palm. Then, smiling, they wave at me and tell me good luck and to try my best. I don't even have enough time to say goodbye before the Peacekeeper leads them out of the door.

I look down at my hand, and I finally notice the ring for the first time. Holding it up to my eye, I take a good look at it. It looks homemade and very simple with no gemstones on it. Of course, because District 9 can't afford luxurious things like jewelery. On the inside of the ring it says, "KJM FRIENDS". Kim, Jacqueline, Maka Friends.

I slip the ring onto my finger, and part of me wishes they didn't give it to me, because now I'm seriously in danger of tears. As I'm trying to collect myself, my second visitor comes in.

The very instant he comes into the room, I jump to my feet and move several feet away from him. The man that I have the utmost hatred for takes another step towards me, and I take another back. I'm seething with anger inside, bubbling with rage that is about to explode. Standing in front of me is the most despicable person on earth, holding his arms out towards me, asking for a hug.

"Screw you," I say, "If I don't want to even talk to you, what makes you think I'm going to give you a hug, _dad_?"

A pained look glazes over his face, and I part of me feels guilty. Still, the unguilty part gets the better of me. "Have you come here to brag about being a Gamemaker? Or maybe, to give me a hint about the arena that's going to kill me?"

He takes another step forward, and says, "I came to warn you." Catching me off guard, he takes fast steps towards me and grabs my shoulders. I'm about to shove him off when he whispers something into my ear. "I'm on your side, Maka. Just remember that." Then he puts something in my hands and walks out of the room. The door slams shut with an echo, and I'm left alone again, more confused than ever.

I seat myself on the couch and find myself staring at the envelope that Spirit gave me before he left. I'm scared to open it.

After what seems like hours but is only a few seconds, I tell myself that I'm being stupid and rip open the envelope without a second thought. Inside, I find a postcard. I flip it over on the other side, and there's a beautiful picture of castle, or at least it looks like one. The building is made of stone, and some parts of the castle look rugged, suggesting that it's an ancient castle. There's a stone bridge connected to the castle, and an exquisite sunset hangs overhead. The many shades of orange shine brightly and I can almost feel their warmth. In the bottom-right corner of the postcard, something is scrawled in a handwriting that I can't read.

I flip the postcard back over and read the address. It's an address I don't recognize, but by the handwriting, immediately I know who sent this. Mama. Tears are forming in my eyes, threatening to fall at any minute as I read the short message she sent me.

_'Maka,  
__Hi, it's your mother! Guess where I am?  
__The word written on the corner of the postcard reads 'Shuja'at',  
__which means 'bravery'.  
__Take courage, my dear Maka, I'll see you soon.'_

She spoke as if she had never left. Mama usually sends a lot of these postcards, but she never comes to visit. It's been a long time since I've got one.

I read the postcard over and over again, until I practically have it memorized. A tear slips past me as I'm reading it for the last time. Shuja'at. Somehow, I feel like Mama knew I'd be in the Demon Games, but that's ridiculous. She's off traveling somewhere or something while I'm stuck here in boring District 9. In some ways, Mama is as bad as Papa.

After a while, a Peacekeeper comes to collect me, and I neatly fold the postcard in half and store it in my pocket. The Peacekeeper tells me to follow him and stay close, because I'm now about to be transported to a train, which will take us to the Capital. I hope that my eyes aren't swollen or red, because the train station is bound to be crawling with reporters and cameras, and I can't have my face looking like that when it's aired on television. People will call me weak.

Reading the postcard from Mama made me realize how important it is that I win. For starters, I can't beat Mama when I'm dead, can I? I've decided that I'm going to try, and that I'm going to win. Not for the Capital, but for me.

The Peacekeeper opens the door, and a blinding light temporarily snatches my sight away. Blinking, I step out tentatively. There's a crowd outside, roaring with excitement. Reporters and cameras are everywhere we go, shoving themselves in our faces. I follow the Peacekeeper obediently towards the train station, where our train is all ready and waiting.

I catch my face televised up on a large TV screen they have in the train station, and I'm relieved to see that my eyes aren't swollen. I look almost emotionless.

The moment I step into the train, I'm already homesick. This may be the last time I ever see home. Goodbye, District 9, Capital here I come.

* * *

_soul: alone once again_

The white haired boy sat carelessly on a large couch in the Justice Building, waiting impatiently for the train to arrive. This was the time for family and friends to come visit the new Tributes before they left for the Capital, but Soul didn't care. He already knew no one would come.

He tapped his foot against the black and white tile floor, his hands and feet restless. He needed to get up and _move_. Just as he was about to get up from his leather couch, a television blinked to life in the corner of the room. _When did that get there? _he thought. Confused, he plopped back down onto the couch and resumed his old position.

The screen of the television was black and white for a few seconds, flickering on and off, when finally, a face popped up onto the screen. It was the _last _face Soul wanted to see. Jumping to his feet, he stood, narrowing his crimson eyes and observing the screen.

The face on the television finally began moving. Its shoulders shook with laughter before saying, "My my, Soul. You've grown!"

"Fuck you."

A wicked grin stretched across the its face. "Now, now, is that how you talk to your President? I could have you killed for that, _Soul._" The President spat his name out like it was dirt.

"Oh yeah? Do it then. This country's jacked up anyways. There's no reason for me to be alive. Kill me, I dare you," Soul challenged.

"Unfortunately, I can't do that Soul. You see, you have quite an important role for my next act. I'm afraid I'm not done with you yet," the President said smoothly, smirking.

Shaking with anger, Soul clenched his fists and said as calmly as he could, "You took away everything from me. What more do you want?"

Amused, the President said, "Calm down, Soul. How about listening to some nice music to cool you down? There's no need to be so petty about little things like that." Jazz music began to play through the TV, and finally, Soul blew up.

"Petty? Little things? Tch, yeah, like killing my family off is a little thing! You ruined my life! You destroyed my home! Just leave me alone, you bastard!" Without a second thought, Soul pulled his fist back, and sent it crashing back into the TV. The screen shattered, leaving hundreds of tiny cracks in the glass. Soul breathed heavily, trying to calm down, his fist bleeding and laying limp by his side. Specks of glass were lodged painfully in his knuckles, but he didn't care. "And turn that shitty music off, will 'ya?"

The TV was still alive, despite the beating it took, and static covered the President's face. Grinning, the President said his final parting words.

"Oh, and I'm sure you're dying to know what my next act is all about. I'll tell you the details soon enough. But for now, your job is _to kill Maka Albarn._"

Then with a shudder, the screen faded to black, and Soul was left alone once again, more horrified that he had ever been.

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys! **

**So, this is my 3rd (and last) time re-writing this!  
****A BIG thanks to all those who story alerted, reviewed, and such. It means so much to me.  
****Also, sorry for the long wait.**

**So, for those of you who don't know, this story is based on The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. If you haven't read it yet, what are you waiting for? Go read it! **

**There are many differences and similarities between The Demon Games and The Hunger Games. I try very hard not to copy too much, because I like originality (and because that's plagiarism), so please try not to hate on this story too much, and give it a chance. :)**

**I hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I did writing it! Oh, and a big thanks to my WONDERFUL beta, Hanako Mitsuki. You guys should go and check out her stories! Go on, don't be shy!**

**Anyways, the next chapter should be out around next month. (that's my deadline, stupid beta. x-x) By the way, would you guys like longer chapters, or is this amount good?**

**Constructive criticism is always welcome!  
I think that Maka was a little OOC in this chapter. What do you guys think?  
****Reviews make me happy! Happiness makes me write more! Writing more makes faster updates! Updates make YOU happy! See the power of reviews?**

**Now go on,  
****REVIEW!  
****l  
****l  
****V**


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